Ʋraniae Metamorphosis in Sydus:
OR, THE TRANSFIGURATION OF OUR [...] Gracious Sovereign Queen MARY.
Discover'd in a MIRACULOUS VISION SINCE THE CELEBRATION of Her FUNERAL.
A POEM.
To the Honourable CHARLES MONTAGUE, Esq Chancellor of the Exchequer, and One of His Majesties most Honourable Privy Council, &c.
Most Humbly Presented.
Written by a Doctor of PHYSICK.
In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere formas Corpora—
Ovid Metamorph.
LONDON, Printed for D. Browne, at the Bible without Temple-Bar, and R. Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane. 1694/5.
Ʋraniae Metamorphosis in Sydus:
OR, THE TRANSFIGURATION OF OUR Late Gracious SOVEREIGN Queen Mary, &c.
ONE Night, and 'twas a dismal Night indeed,
The Heav'ns a thickned Darkness o'respread.
Cynthia cou'd not the gloomy Air inlight,
Or pierce the solid Curtains of the Night.
No twinkling Star Us the least Glimpse allow'd,
But the whole Sky was One continu'd Cloud.
The reeling-tott'ring House, and whistling Wind
Doubl'd the sad Confusion of my Mind.
Thus as I lay this stormy Night in Bed,
And on my Pillow lean'd my Pensive Head,
I strove with strong Desire to take my Rest,
And with soft Slumbers ease my troubled Breast.
But all in vain, my hopes of Rest were vain,
The rocking Winds ne're lull'd away my Pain.
The trickling Waters, sent from th' mighty Deep
With pleasant Murmurs, ne're invited Sleep.
My active Spirits, those Springs of Life, in spight
Of Poppy Potions, and the consenting Night
Forbad my drowsy Eyes themselves to close,
Or weari'd Limbs t' embrace a just Repose.
With Thoughts unsettl'd thus I distracted lay,
Expecting Comfort from th' approaching Day.
Now least the Day, unkind as Night before,
Shou'd add some greater Misery to my store,
Amidst these Troubles I resolv'd to try
Whether 'twere possible for Ease to die.
So for a while my Hands and Arms I spread,
Wishing my self ev'n every moment dead.
Then, as if struck with the Almighty Rod,
I lay, methoughts, a stupid senseless Clod;
Waiting my Fate, yet fearing still to Die,
Wish'd, and Resolv'd, I knew not what, or why.
Ah! then said I (and round my Bed I roul)
What mean these sad Distractions of my Soul?
Some dire Presage, alas! I know't too well,
These my Prophetick troubl'd Thoughts foretel!
When on a sudden startled with a Noise,
I know not whence it came, I heard a Voice,
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone;
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
The Voice no sooner reach'd my trembling Ears,
But my quick Eyes help'd to augment my Fears.
For strait a Flaming Light shone round the Room,
Not such as from dull Fire, or Lightning come:
But as the Sun in its Meridian bright,
If that the Sun himself has so much Light.
Wrap'd in this Light, for 'twas a Lambent Flame,
A Youth, a Lovely Youth, methoughts, there came,
Whose radiant Beauty far outshin'd the Sun;
No Lover saw the like, but was undone.
His Eyes to Pearls too mean were to compare,
For sure I am each rather was a Star,
Which with Majestick pleasantness he roul'd
On ev'ry side, then labour'd to unfold
His curled Locks, his Locks of purest Gold.
I view'd his Hand, the milk or driv'n Snow
Could never half that perfect Whiteness show.
A well-tun'd Harp hung dangling on his Arm,
With which, as well as Beauty, he could charm.
On this he play'd his Melancholy Strain;
He play'd, and sigh'd, and play'd, and sigh'd again:
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
And here he wept—oh! with what lovely Grace
The trickling Tears bedew'd his tender Face!
After some Pause at last he Silence broke,
And thus to me, now fearless grown, he spoke.
I come in Message from the Eastern shore,
To tell you that URANIA is no more.
Me their wing'd Messenger kind Heav'n sends,
To let you know y'have lost the Best of Friends.
With quick dispatch I bring th' unwelcome News,
Left lying Fame your credulous Faith abuse;
And fed by Flattery you still believe,
Because you hope't, and wisht, She's still alive:
No, 'tis not so, I waited at Her Death,
And saw Her vent Her utmost panting Breath.
'Twas sad, but 'twas my Duty there to wait,
And Heav'ns Command I shou'd attend Her Fate.
I saw the fatal Arrow, as it went,
From the destroying Angel's Quiver sent.
I saw Him dipt in Poison, as I stood,
Which gave th' Infection to the Royal Blood.
When strugling Nature labour'd, thô in vain,
Th' imprison'd Venom to discharge again.
I saw when it at first with angry Face
Lurk'd undistinguish'd in the Tainted Mass;
And blooming Spots appearing from within,
Creep'd through the little Crannies of the Skin.
A Skin so Charming, and so wond'rous Fair,
That I want Words its Beauty to declare;
Thô then it look'd, for I remember't yet,
Like polish'd Silver with fine Rubies set.
Thus the first Scene with flatt'ring hopes began,
And all things smooth in th' usual Current ran,
Until the Angel gave the Fatal Blow,
(For Heav'n decreed, and therefore 't must be so)
And cut the Thread, the slender Thread of Life,
And from the Best of Husbands took the Kindest Wife.
Then might you see, what's dreadful to relate,
Triumphant Death in all its Pomp and State.
The livid Spots now o're Her Body range,
The sure Forerunners of the Tragick change.
These gave the Signal of approaching Death,
And curdling Blood thick'nd her Sighs and Breath;
For now the florid Rubies shone no more,
But back retir'd into the putrid Gore;
The languid Spirits, now few, together throng,
And slowly drive the Circulation on.
Or (as Flocks hurri'd promiscuously stray)
Through their Convulsive Channels fly away.
Pale Looks, and hanging Head with meagre meen,
Usher'd in the second dreadful Scene.
How wan! How strangely chang'd she seem'd to me
That knew Her in Her Youth and Bravery!
When Her brisk Eyes darted such am'rous Rays,
As they, who dare not say they love, must praise.
At length, with trembling Lips, and falt'ring Tongue,
In Words confus'd, mix'd with Devotion,
The last Effort that yielding Nature made,
Thus to Her Dearest Consort, fainting, said,
Farewel to worldly Vanities and State,
Since 'tis Decreed, I humbly court my Fate.
I freely can to Pleasures bid adieu,
And gladly part with ev'ry thing—But You.
You my Life's Happiness, my Soul, my All,
All that poor URANIA Dear can call.
To You I must—And here She stop'd awhile,
And with a kind, but half convulsive Smile,
I must again, She said, my Thoughts reveal,
And bid, and bid unwillingly Farewel.
Kind Heav'n prosper—Then She lost her Voice,
And only made a silent murm'ring Noise,
Aiming to speak, as She had done before,
Cou'd not, but sigh'd, and kiss'd, and was no more.
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
After this Youth had told his humble Tale,
And, as I thought, with that concluded all,
Taking his Harp, that on his Arm he hung,
This Hymn he passionately play'd, and sung.
Blest Angels who are All-o're-Love,
In doleful Consort join with me,
And mourn URANIA's Fate above,
She was All-Love as well as Ye:
I mourn URANIA, Lovely URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree she shou'd exchange a Throne.
Place Her among the brightest Choir,
And Fairest Spirits of the Sky;
For She was made of Heav'nly Fire,
And was as Bright, and Fair as they.
URANIA's Dead, the Fair URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
If any Souls among the rest
More Innocent or Pure can be,
With them be She for ever Blest,
She was as Innocent as they.
URANIA, th' Innocent URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
If any Saint for greater Fame
Of Piety Heav'n prefer,
Among these Saints inrol Her Name,
She was as Pious as they were.
URANIA's Dead, Pious UARNIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns Decree, &c.
Humility in Princes seen,
Claims justly a Celestial Seat;
Then what do's She deserve, a Queen
That was so Good, so humbly Great?
URANIA's Dead, th' Humble URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns, &c.
Mourn then, the Lovely Fair One mourn,
Bright without Pride, Fair without Scorn.
As Innocent as th' harmless Dove,
As Pious as the Saints above;
As Great as Majesty cou'd be,
Yet greater in Humility.
This is th' URANIA that is Dead and gone,
Whom Heav'n rewards with an Eternal Crown.
Swift as the Light'ning then away He flew,
Leaving me musing what He was, and who;
So I to recollect my self began,
And scatter'd Spirits ralli'd up again:
This sure, said I, guessing by th' Harp in hand,
Must be the Genius of Our Native Land,
Whom Heav'n ordain'd, being Heav'ns peculiar Care,
To watch and guard URANIA every where.
'Midst bloody Wars her Influence did us save;
Not only Life and sure Protection gave,
And thô unworthy made us happy still,
Pouring on Blessings ev'n against our Will.
No longer now our harmless Soil let's boast,
Think other Nations by th' Old Serpent curst;
Where a vast num'rous Brood of poys'nous Spawn
Lies undiscern'd in ev'ry Wood, and Lawn:
For since that She is Dead, and with Her All,
I'll nothing Happiness, or Blessing call.
My rambling Thoughts perplex, and Spirits sink,
My very Soul for Grief forgets to think.
My Reason too—Hold there, a Voice repli'd,
Passion must not your Reason, Sir, misguide.
Althô th' Affliction's great, You'r not undone,
All Bliss in such a Pair that rul'd the Throne,
Is never wholly lost by losing One.
And here He silent stood, whil'st I amaz'd,
And wondring whence the Voice came, round me gaz'd;
When I espi'd, much like the first, another
Fair Youth, which I believ'd to be his Brother:
But seem'd to have a more Majestick Soul,
As if He acted all without Controul,
And send His Placats into distant Lands,
To teach 'em how to execute's Commands.
A Lyon Rampant carv'd on's Sword He wore,
True Emblem of the Power and Sway He bore;
Whose ver' Effigies was so finely done,
That Anger sparkled from the Sword alone:
Or so, at least, it seem'd to me that Night,
Who'd been so long in one continu'd Fright.
Whil'st thus I lay half dead with new Surprize,
Viewing the glitt'ring Form with eager Eyes,
He spake again—
Think this, and learn by thinking to repent,
Not so much Loss, as gen'ral Punishment,
Sent by th' Almighty's just afflicting Hand
A Scourge for Sin, and to refine the Land;
That those whose Business is themselves to please,
Glutted with Lux'ry, and surfeited with Ease,
'Midst the Career of their lov'd Jollities,
May by Affliction learn to be more wise.
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone;
'Twas Heav'ns Decree She shou'd exchange a Throne.
I the Good Genius of the Brittish Isle,
Not long—and here He sigh'd, and paus'd awhile;
Had the Joint-charge, and Tutelary care
By Heav'n appointed, of the Royal Pair.
Being Decreed by the Eternal Will,
Which is Unalterable, we fulfil;
That where Two Princes do One Scepter sway,
Two Angels shou'd a Joint attendance pay.
Thus as we serv'd, so we together moan,
That half our Charge, our pleasant Charge is gone.
And ev'n Immortal Beings scarce can tell
Her Praise sufficient, She deserv'd so well.
Her very Thoughts, for those I understood,
And private Motions of her Soul were good.
Go then, and publish what you see and hear,
And tell the World this short just Character.
The Woman's Dead, whom vain 'twere to pretend
For single Virtues only to commend;
Her Modest, Chaste, or Affable to call,
For She was more, nay, She alone was All.
And if Her real Worth you'll try to find,
Say all the Good you can of Womankind.
When you want Words (and that I'm sure you must,
If that Her Character be true and just)
Then let your subtle Imagination try
To form a Notion in th' highest degree
Of some abstracted Good in'ts Purity,
Conceive 't aright, and then I'm sure 'tis She.
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns, &c.
The Wife is Dead, whom Nature never made,
Or Int'rest taught, to love in Masquerade.
To feign Obedience, that was really none,
Or by dissembling gain Affection.
By which, some their fond Husbands Passions move,
And gently cheat, and wheadle into Love.
But as for Her, who scorn'd that trifling way,
'Twas the same thing to love, and to obey.
She ne're compell'd Her struggling Will to bend
To humour Husband, or to flatter Friend.
For all She did, was done with so much Ease,
Was so sincere, so free from Artifice,
That in Her very Nature 'twas to please.
Wou'd you describe Best Woman, and Best Wife?
Describe, thô Dead, URANIA to the Life.
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone,
'Twas Heav'ns, &c.
The Queen is Dead, who whil'st She wore the Crown,
Made Justice's temper sweet as was Her own.
And so with Mercy mix'd as serv'd for Awe,
Yet softn'd the Severities of the Law.
If e're Industrious Clemency was shown
To save such Wretches as deserved none;
Vile Wretches, hardn'd Rebels, who sought Her Blood,
'Twas then She strove, and labour'd to do Good.
Strange condescending Majesty that can
By yielding conquer't self, and stubborn Man!
Yet so She did; and grand Affairs of State
With so much prudent Management debate,
With such an acurate Judgment, that 'twas plain
The QUEEN, the Wife, the Woman were the same.
Heav'ns bless Great CAESAR, if He wed agen,
With such a Woman, such a Wife, and such a QUEEN.
URANIA's Dead, the Dear URANIA's gone;
'Twas Heav'ns, &c.
No sooner had He done, but close by's side
There stood the very Woman He describ'd.
As far as I cou'd guess by th' outward Meen,
She cou'dn't be less than (as I thought) a QUEEN.
And so it was; but as I fix'd my Eyes,
to pry more near into these Mysteries,
And Sacred Image perfectly to view,
Vast streams of Light, methoughts, around Her flew.
'Tis true, althô 'tis wonderfully strange,
I saw a glor'ous and stupend'ous Change:
Her Body now grew EMINENTLY bright,
And with a Flood of Beams confound my sight;
Althô before it seem'd of Heav'nly Race,
And brighter far than ever Mortals was.
Yet now ten thousand times redoubl'd Beams
Dart from the Mass, and flow in mighty Streams;
With glowing Colour first appearing Red,
Like the Sun rising from his Eastern Bed.
Then with [...] Flame, bright as th' Merid'an Sun,
I thought indeed it was the same, it shone.
And even now when ever it appears,
It drowns the light of all the lesser Stars.
Next which I saw some Stars with dimmer light,
Which because near, seem'd not to shine so bright,
Around that mighty flaming Globe display
Such Influence, as Alone would make a Day.
But now seem'd Spangles, little Gems of light;
Design'd, perhaps, by Power Infinite,
To pay some signal secret Service, these
Philosophers have call'd Satellites:
Who on some Star of greater Magnitude wait,
Who gives his Influence, as 'twere in State.
Thus the whole Constellation form'd I saw,
And th' Angels with it from my sight withdraw,
Convey'd to Heav'n with a vast glitt'ring Train,
And with Her Glory's plac'd next Charles's-Wain;
Where now She Reigns, and sends Her Influence down
Eternally to guard, and bless the BRITTISH CROWN.
FINIS.